Friday, 27 August 2010

INDOLENCE.

There’s an untapped potential,That often goes unmentioned,And it’s assembledIn my mental space,Though whether I have the attention spanTo handle itRemains unknown. I have the capacity To be fascinated by possibilitiesBut I’m usually too slothful To engage them,Or not brave enough to face The stuff of everyday arrangements,And unlike a flight test’s frightfulnessThe more ordinary an eventThe more likely the extentTo which I’ll omit its entertainment,Or turn tail altogetherAnd bolt for the nearest hole;Insisting all along I was quite right in doing soEven as the walls fall in.But the only archaeological certaintyIn EnglandIs that you’ll find bones in Towton,And I know I’m not amongst them,So unless I want to rest in peaceI’d best recompenseCommon senseAnd address my laziness.